


The Wrong Slip to Fall

by imnotunderstanding



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Enemies to Lovers, Gay, M/M, Murder Mystery, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Secret Relationship, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotunderstanding/pseuds/imnotunderstanding
Summary: Internally Sherlock still hasn't been able to shake the events at the pool in which he first met Moriarty and was almost killed alongside his partner and only friend, John Watson. One night John goes out on a date after not planning to stay in and do research on a case, leaving Sherlock to a deep session in his mind palace to solve the mystery. However Sherlock is interrupted as an unexpected visitor arrives at the door knowing all the answers.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	The Wrong Slip to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> ***this is my first Sherlock x Moriarty fanfic, let alone fanfic...Hope you like!
> 
> (takes place after the first season of Sherlock)

Like always it seemed the door downstairs was unlocked so it made Moriarty stepping into 221B of Baker Street too tempting and too easy. Fifteen minutes ago before it had hit ten at night, he watched John had raced out the apartment glad to go meet his newest clearly pretty, but boring, unsuitable date after witnessing one of his roommate’s prolonged episodes that were the result of his boredom and frustration.

_Ohhh rain,_ Moriarty thought as he wiped off his feet while inside the entrance of the apartment. _It's so fragile and fleeting._

For a moment he couldn’t figure if in the level above him was the undeniably sweet sound of someone perfectly playing the violin to a song of Bach or if it were just a recording that was turned up too loud. 

_Nah...Its Holmes,_ he concluded as he unfolded his umbrella and slicked down his dark gray suit. He sniffed the air for the moment before taking another step. The smell of the pastries next door were lingering like the addiction he had to organizing mass crimes and that Sherlock has for mysteries and cigarettes.

Keeping his tight leather gloves on, Moriarty glided his hands along the railing of the stairs with his usual devious smile plastered on his face. His eyes were closed with every move he made as he had been to Sherlock’s apartment before on several occasions-of course when no one was there.

Meanwhile Sherlock was moving his head to the rhythm of the music as he performed one of his favorite concertos although internally his mind was elsewhere. Invisible to the human eye, he was in his mind palace reading scribbled handwritten words of his fly around his eyes along with articles from the paper and online about his current case.

He was so close to cracking the last question he needed answer that would tie the murderer to the victims-

“Oooooooh Sherrrrlock, baby pleaseeeeeeee pick up your phone next time. I don’t have time for house visits of all my soon to be victims,” Moriarty whined like he was the belle of a ball whose dress got ruined. 

Nonstartled this time, Sherlock slowly shifted his gaze to one of his worst enemies. “If you’re going to kill me, get on with it already,” he said as he set his violin down with his bruised hands, not flinching at all to the pain-he was immune to beating the answers out of criminals.

_He needs something_ , Sherlock realized as Moriarty started eyeing all the papers that were on the desk. _But what? Why? Why come to me knowing I’ll say no?_

“Is your puppy reenacting Lady and the Tramp today?” The psychopath asked as picked up one of John’s untouched belongings: a cup of tea Mrs. Hudson brought up half an hour ago. “Mmmm, tea...You know I killed my parents with it, orrrr with poison in it I should say.”

The chuckling of a serial criminal was disgusting to Sherlock, making his stomach churn. 

“I wouldn’t put it past you. They must’ve been idiots to keep you alive.”

After gulping down the tea in one breath and tossing the cup and its plate on the floor to shatter, Moriarty sighed and smiled wide showing off his bright white teeth like a maniac. “Tea goes great with the limbs or organs of a tortured man,” he admitted, feeling joyful to toy around with Sherlock’s place of dwelling. 

Taken from his inner suit jacket, Sherlock abruptly pulled out his gun and pointed it in the direction of the man’s head. “Alright, enough is enough. Who’s trying to contact me? One of your regretful clients looking for redemption or justice?”

While rolling his eyes and shoving his hands in his lined pant pockets, Moriarty briefly stood on tippy toes to see something above Sherlock’s head. 

_What is he looking for around the fireplace?_ Sherlock wondered.

“Why are you investigating the random string of murders of secretaries of Parliament's highest officials? Isn’t it obvious, you imbecile?” Moriarty said with a bored undertone in his voice. He licked his teeth with his mouth in an obnoxious way and smoothed his jet black hair down. Sherlock was wrong, Moriarty was looking at the mirror, but he wasn’t staring at himself. He was staring at Sherlock, but moving around just for show.

“Its-”

“You? _Me?_ OHHHHHHH MYYYY!” Exclaimed Moriarty throwing his hands on top of his mouth. “Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective in history has FIGURED IT OUT!” 

“Those men I caught trying to kill a fourth secretary...they’re all tied back to you…..You orchestrated that too. You-” 

Moriarty walked closer and closer to a possible death, eerily taking pleasure in the hard metal of the gun’s end pressing against his temples. He whispered like it was a secret, “yes, it was allllll me: Jim Moriartyyyyy.”

“Why?”

Spoken even softer and mysterious, Moriarty replied, “the boys are back in town.” 

Sherlock lowered the gun meanwhile Moriarty raised his arm to touch the part of Sherlock’s chest where his heart was. 

“Next time I’ll bring the tea, and you bring an organ for me to devour. I prefer the heart. You know it's that reckless, overused thing that keeps beating for the lady downstairs, the detective at the police station, and your favorite, aka lost puppy, John Watson?” 

“Who do you mean by the boys?” Sherlock asked although Moriarty was making his way to the door, with a sudden facade of an innocent man on his face.

Moriarty pouted out his lip. “My favorite clients. Soon you’ll see why.”

Then suddenly everything came into view for the great detective with the funny hat.

“There are four secretaries within the British Parliament that worked for you, or at least you used/tricked to retrieve precious information regarding highly classified information. They’re all soon going to be dead because they’re no longer of use. It's probably because they caught on to whatever schemes/manipulation you inflicted upon them or some even more probable, their bosses did. You’re trying to infiltrate the government to-”

“I like you,” Moriarty interrupted to say. Slowly pacing to the mirror above the fireplace he blushed, and Sherlock was uncertain why. “Though I could love you if only you could use that brain to deduce when death is staring right back at you.”

Sherlock stepped right behind Moriarty as seen in the mirror he felt drawn to. “You’re not here because you’re trying to kill me, you’re here to give me a warning because-”

“Games are no fun when your opponent doesn’t bring pawns of their own or see people switching sides,” Moriarty said as he looked down at the flames in the lit fireplace. Internally they both thought he looked more devilish as he did so. 

“You’re here in my apartment today because some of the people who are working for you are trying to leave. What is it you’re trying to pull off that would scare some of them so much that you believe they would want to contact me? Though regarding the case I’m working on, what are you trying to pull off that your clients wanted to manipulate or hire secretaries of the government's most noted officials to tell them? I figure you won’t tell me, but I still want you to know that I know all the things you’re planning-”

Moriarty turned around and there was hardly any space between their bodies. He reached up and wiped Sherlock’s flustered curly brown hair away from his thick eyebrows. “Being smart is not enough to make someone like me decide not to kill you. Did you know that?” 

“I don’t understand your motive for the things you do,” Sherlock mumbled annoyed that he felt trapped in a game with no end in sight. 

In a whisper so quiet Sherlock almost didn’t hear, Moriarty answered. _“That’s the point.”_

Sherlock whispered back, not stepping away worried about a sudden fatal move from Moriarty. “Why torture me?”

Moriarty’s phone suddenly rang playing the song “The Boys Are Back in Town” coincidentally; nonetheless, he zoned out looking at the eyes of Sherlock Holmes who was riled up. Sherlock’s pupils were slightly bigger than a dot of a marker’s blot on the contrary to his. 

Before walking out, Moriarty blew one last soft, creepy and wannabe heartfelt strand of words into Sherlock’s ears. “Because you’re the only person, the only _only_ person who is just like me. But you-you, Sherlock Holmes, do everything in spite of the chaotic urges that greet you-no, _us_ day _and_ night.


End file.
